


Upon a Nightmare

by Cantatrice18



Category: Maleficent (2014)
Genre: Budding Love, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Past Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-22
Updated: 2016-12-22
Packaged: 2018-09-11 00:32:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8945494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cantatrice18/pseuds/Cantatrice18
Summary: Diaval watches Maleficent battle her nightmares, until finally he can take no more. Waking her, though, has unintended consequences.





	

He’d been very young when they’d met. If he hadn’t been as naïve and inexperienced, he might never have been caught in that farmer’s net, might never have felt the strange, unnerving sensation of feathers retracting into a body that shifted and grew in a way nature never intended. Back then, to serve her meant just that and nothing more. He’d followed her commands without question. But curiosity came naturally to his kind. It took only a matter of days to discover the many rumors surrounding Maleficent’s sudden turn to darkness and the sinister disappearance of her wings. Theories abounded as to how she’d lost them, ranging from the absurd to the disturbing. He didn’t believe them, but catalogued them all away in his head for further analysis, should any of them seem even remotely close to the truth. He had his own theories, theories that materialized over many months as he began to settle into life as her vassal. King Stefan had hurt her, that much was obvious from her obsession with him and the royal family. Seeing her injuries for the first time, the half-cauterized stubs of flesh where once great chestnut wings had sprouted, left him shaken and nauseous. He hid his emotions well, playing the part of the humble servant to a T, but he watched her closely at every opportunity. He noticed how little she slept, and how poorly. Curled up in a tree or in a narrow aperture of rock, she would shift and writhe, her normally impassive features twisted with fear and grief at the monsters that assailed her dreams. It was then that he realized his own power. Softly, as gently as he could, he would nudge her shoulder with his beak until she stirred, ducking out of sight before she woke and saw him. It gave him a deep, resounding sense of satisfaction to be the one to chase away her nightmares. In daylight hours she might be Guardian of the Moors, formidable and dangerous to all who crossed her, but at night he became the guard, the protector of her dreams.

For months he watched over her, chasing away the memories that overwhelmed her as she slept, until one night he found himself in the strange position of being left in his guise of a man, rather than his comfortable bird body. From behind a pile of boulders, he watched helplessly as Maleficent struggled against invisible bonds. When he heard her anguished moan, he could stand it no longer. Creeping forward, he knelt by her prone form and rested a gentle hand on her shoulder. It took all his willpower to stifle a gasp. What he could never appreciate as a bird became all too obvious now: the softness of her skin, the light perfume that clung to her, the pale, swanlike beauty of her neck. She was radiant in sleep, the most enchanting creature he’d ever seen. Something unfamiliar ached within his chest. His arms itched to hold her, to pull her against him and feel the warmth of her body next to his. Indecision kept him frozen until he heard a sharp intake of breath. Hazel eyes flashed in his direction and she pulled away from him, her hand going at once to the spot where he’d touched her. “What are you doing?” she hissed. “Get away from me!”

There was something odd about her voice, and about the way she moved. The sensible part of him told him to run, to grovel from a safe distance until she forgave his boldness, but the part of him that had ached when he’d drawn close to her refused to let him leave. She’d sat up, her shoulders hunched protectively and her arms wrapping around her middle. Though he couldn’t be certain, he thought she might be trembling. She’s afraid, he realized with a jolt. But of what? Her eyes met his and he could see the rage in them. Without meaning to, he took a step back. “Mistress, I—“

He had no chance to finish, for with a wave of her hand he had transformed back into a raven. A second later a bolt of power crackled past him, scorching the feathers on his right side. With a caw he took flight, circling overhead at a safe distance in case she decided further punishment was required. His eyes focused in on her as she huddled by the rocks below, her knees drawn up to her chest. He’d only meant to shoo away her nightmares, the way he’d always done. If he hadn’t been trapped in that foolish human body, nothing would have happened, and she’d never have awoken. Her head was bowed, and a pang of remorse shot through him like an arrow, making him drop several feet before he could catch himself. It was his fault that she was in pain. He knew what Stephan must have done to her, why she’d been plagued by nightmares for as long as he’d known her. He’d watched as she’d forgone even the smallest sip of wine or mead that she had not poured herself. To awaken from a nightmare with a strange man leaning over her, touching her… 

He gathered his wings in close and dropped, landing with a thud some yards away from her. The noise made her look up in alarm. Her arched brows snapped together as she caught sight of him. “Leave me!” she commanded, voice harsh with anger. 

He shook his head, his eyes trained on her and her alone. For a moment she looked shocked that he would defy her, then her surprise turned to rage and green fire began to play along the length of her arms. “Diaval, I warn you, if you come near me I will strike you down. Begone!”

His heart thudding in his chest, Diaval shook his head once more. Opening his beak, he let out a soft chirruping sound, the noise those of his kind used to comfort their nestlings or their mate. The sound was so unlike his usual harsh caws that for a moment Maleficent seemed to forget her anger. Encouraged, Diaval repeated the sound. The green fire faded from her arms, and she slowly raised one hand. “Into a man,” she murmured, her voice hesitant and low.

Diaval felt the now-familiar sensation of wings turning to arms, feathers turning to hair. When he had resumed his human form, he knelt before her, head bowed. “Mistress, I beg your pardon for my boldness. I never meant to hurt you, only to wake you from your dream.”

“My dream…” Maleficent paused, bright red lips parted ever so slightly. “You were watching me sleep?”

“I—“ Diaval looked away, embarrassed. “Yes, Mistress. I was.”

“And is this the first time you’ve watched me?” Maleficent queried, voice clipped.

Shamefaced, he shook his head “No, Mistress.”

“Then why wake me tonight?” she demanded. “Unless…unless you…” Her eyes met his and he nodded slowly. “But I never felt you,” she muttered, half to herself, her hand going once more to the place on her shoulder where he’d touched. “Why haven’t I felt you before now?”

He cleared his throat and looked down at his body. Maleficent followed his gaze and understanding dawned on her face. “Of course. And you could hide so quickly if I woke completely.”

He nodded, a sad smile crossing his lips. “Mistress, I meant you no harm, tonight or any other night. I just…” he felt blood rush to his cheeks, and marveled at the sensation even as he despised it. “I hate to see you hurting,” he admitted in a rush. “I can’t stand watching the nightmares eat at you, minute by minute, hour by hour. Sleep should be beautiful.”

Maleficent was regarding him in a way he could not place, a way that made him feel exposed and vulnerable. “Come here,” she commanded quietly. “Please,” she added, as an afterthought.

Rising to his feet, Diaval walked slowly until he stood a yard away from where she knelt. “Closer,” she instructed. He moved forward until only a foot of space separated them. “Kneel,” she ordered, and he obeyed. This close he could see the rings of color that made up her irises, the fiery orange center of each drawing him in. He felt the same odd pressure in his chest that he’d felt when he’d first touched her. Dimly he saw her raise her hand, but it still came as a shock to find his limbs shrinking, his feathers sprouting once more. He let out a caw of surprise as he felt her long fingers stroking his wings, lifting him up until he nestled in the warm hollow between her breasts. “Thank you, Diaval,” she whispered. He stilled, listening to the beat of her heart and the rhythm of her breathing. He understood now why she’d transformed him, why she could embrace him as a bird but not as a man. Opening his beak, he repeated the soft chirrup that birds saved for the ones they loved most. She might not belong to him, not yet, but he would always be hers.


End file.
